


Wholeness

by anemptymargin



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: F/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:17:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemptymargin/pseuds/anemptymargin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a private moment, where they can both find the cathartic release - if not always in a literal sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wholeness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merryghoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryghoul/gifts).



> Set at an indeterminate time roughly season 4ish? I've been wanting to write spanking that's only peripherally sexual quite some time and this really felt good to make happen.

He comes to her, cowed and silent on all fours, his tanned skin broken with scars and bruises – new and old and none caused by her hand. This is their quiet time, their trust, their evening when all the world can disappear and they can simply be comforted by what makes them feel whole again.

She puts her hand down from her comfortable chair, a smile creasing her lipstick when he obediently nuzzles against her fingertips, brushing a small kiss against her knuckles as he heels at her feet. "Good boy, Michael," she praises, stroking up his cheek and then through his short hair, raking her nails over his scalp in a way that makes his breath catch audibly. Then Fiona snaps her fingers and he sits back far on his heels, eyes down and chin up – waiting for her next command. "Paddle."

It's not a question, it's an order. A much needed order at that – some structure to his otherwise chaotic life that makes them both squirm and flush with delight. Michael nods, a single quick gesture, before crawling across the loft on all fours to retrieve the implement. His knee come to rest on an old shell casing - .45 he thinks offhandedly as he reaches under the bed to find their small crate of toys. Tonight isn't for a drawn out experience, no time for the leather restraints or the blindfold, not even the odd assortment of phallic treasures will make an appearance before bed – and the knowledge of that doesn't really disappoint him, he's getting what he needs and so is she. They don't need to fuck; they don't even need to come. They just need the structure and release, and Fiona knows that even more than he does.

"Michael." Her voice commands and he drop back on all fours, clasping the thick leather paddle between his teeth by the handle just as he's been taught to do. "You're stalling."

He whimpers, a barely audible sound around the leather he can taste with a simple shift of his tongue, and rushes toward her in a loping flurry of limbs that would be comical in any other circumstance. Then, safely back at her feet, he deposits the paddle into her lap and dares to nose at the hem of her cocktail dress to smell the sweetness of her arousal for what's to come. It's against the rules, but completely worth it.

"Bad. Bad boy." She laughs, her nails digging into his scalp once more and pulling his face away from her, unsurprised to see a grin twisting his lips and sparkling in his eyes. "I should make you do laps for that."

A low whine closes his throat, remembering all too well the many trips around the loft on hands and knees where he found what seemed like every speck of broken glass and splintered wood the place had accumulated in his lifetime, and as soon as she releases him he cowers at her feet – lips pressing repentant kisses to her bare toes. He would do anything for her, even without the harsh demand when she played her role... even laps.

She sighs, and he knows she's smiling. She loves the way his lips feel on her toes and might explore it more were the moon not already sinking low and morning close behind. "Get up here," she says without conceit, "Bad boy."

A shudder courses through him at the chiding tone, his cock stiff as he pushes up on his feet and bends himself carefully over her lap. He knows she wouldn't break under his weight, all the same he poises himself with his hands and feet flat on the floor and his belly barely pressed against her. "Ready?" She asks, and he nods eagerly, still shocked by the swiftness of the first hard slap of cold leather against skin – the hot sting of impact drawing out a moan.

The swats are hard, but loving, and he got dizzy each time he was allowed the simple pleasure of being simply spanked by her. The second whack leaves him flushed pink in the face, but barely marred on his muscular ass and draws out a hard assault – three, four, five, six – before she stops for breath and all he can do is writhe against her.

"Much better," she coos, her fingers stroking gently over the heated skin – dancing on his freshly pinked cheeks as she traces the crack of his ass down to his balls. Her nails rake gently over that tender skin and he shivers. "Don't you dare, Michael. You know better than to leak all over my favorite dress."

He does, but the chance I still there. The way she makes him throb with her very touch is enough to make his body ache for more. Too quickly for pleasure, her caress is replaced with the wicked thud of her cathartic swats – each one easing away every frustration, every worry Michael Westen has brought into her life since the lasts spanking was administered. "You little shit!" She growls low and loud, the number somewhere over twelve where Michael had lost his ability to count in favor of the giddy high of letting himself float away on the pure release of being punished for his sins. "God I hate you!"

She's crying, flushed, and trembling. This is a good sign, she's letting it go – she's focusing again. Slowly, her swats come to an end and leather rests against his skin and Michael can't tell which is hotter, and he really doesn't care. He can smell her arousal and another night it might end in them giving in to that animalistic desire to finish what they had started, but tonight it wouldn't. She was still angry, and he would be leaving in the morning to make things worse.

When her fingers unsnap a cheap leather collar from around his neck, it falls to floor and he's allowed once more on his knees. Unrestricted, his arms loop around her waist and he pulls her close despite the sudden desire for a cool shower and rest. "I'm sorry," he whispers into her dress, and she strokes away the sheen of sweat from his neck and shoulders. "I love you."

And she shushes him, letting her palm gently rub across his taut back before leaning in to press a kiss to the top of his head. "I love you too." And her words an almost solemn sound, punctuated by her rise out of the chair and over his head to the side of the bed where she shimmies out of her dress with hardly a pause. After a long moment, she catches him staring and offers a coy smile; "Cold shower. We'll discuss foreplay if you make it back tomorrow."


End file.
